Death Warrant
by qsmadness007
Summary: A story set during "Old Acquaintances" from Marcus's POV. For the may Profilerfans challenge


AN: Thanks so much for mravensblood for beta-ing :)

Name: Death Warrant  
Rating: PG-13 (language)  
Summary: Marcus realizes his life may be over. Set in Season 2, and set in Old Acquaintances, and since the story is Marcus's POV, I am writing how he remembers it, and not how some things may have actually happened, since memory is not always correct.

I stand in front of the sink, as I throw water on my face. I feel like any day I am going to be a dead man. This three year undercover operation is starting to take its toll. I would do anything right now for a good Chicago pizza, to see my friends, my family. But I signed up for this, and every time I think I have this thing beat, they seem to find something else to reel me in, to make me stay longer. I should have gone to the district attorney awhile ago, but I think they are just starting to trust me.

I am starting to think that the main problem was having me watch Burton. He doesn't treat me like a human; he doesn't treat anyone like a human, more like a piece of property. I don't really like ruffling up this little mouse character. He is an FBI agent; Burton must have something more on him than that one job. There has to be something there. But I checked the file for his amnesty deal, and he didn't include that job. So, he must be panicking. He seems like a nice guy, just a bit squirrelly, and very jumpy. He obviously didn't work with a lot of people in the syndicate or else he might not be so scared by me when I come to threat him.

But people have always told me I remind them in a way of one of those heavies on the movies, or books. The guy sent in to shake things up, and breaks some legs. Yeah, I can pretend to do that, and it works to my advantage. I don't really like to play that role, mainly because it is what people expect me of me. I love defying people's expectations.

I look at myself in the mirror again, and grab my gun and holster off the back of the sink and put it on. This meeting with the little mouse should be interesting, I hope he didn't get stupid and decide to go tell his co-workers, because then, they are probably going to have him wired.

The ride over is a bit bumpy. Burton doesn't say anything to me the whole time, which is fine, because when he does decide to talk nothing interesting ever comes out of his mouth. But since I am supposed to be his lap-dog, his link to the syndicate, I pretend I listen to what he says, and actually cares. Most of the time he asks me random questions anyway, like how many people I have killed. (I lied on that one and told him 45, and his eye brows went up interested. I think sometimes he wishes he wasn't a lawyer but a soldier, but that is never going to happen since he is flabby.)

The mouse is waiting for us, wearing a long trench coat. But it is understandable; it is freezing outside, well for Atlanta anyway. I pull my wool cap over my head tighter, watching the little man. At least he never projects the image that he had money, him and his little hatchback. I was so tempted one time to take a baseball bat to it, but I was never told to, so I didn't. I never actually had to resort to physical violence to make him comply, just the threat of it.

Another car pulls up. "Who is this?" I ask, I don't like this it looks like a set-up. A tall man steps out of the car, he looks angry to me, like his whole life he has got the short end of the stick. It is probably his own damn fault he got the short end of the stick, it doesn't seem like he ever try to contribute to society in a positive way. But most of the people I have encountered on this three year stint seem to be that way.

"You have always remind me you represent Cahill's interest, I thought it would be good to have someone who represents mine." Burton gives a shit-eating grin, which I could easily wipe off his face with a smack but I won't.

The guy introduces himself as Bunny or Fluffy or something; I can't quite make it out, since he says it in a way where it is thrown into the wind.

"You should check him to make sure he isn't wired." Burton comments about the little mouse.

Bunny takes a step towards the mouse, but is distracted when the mouse and Burton have a little exchange, where they are talking simultaneously almost.

"You know me better than Burton, don't you trust me" "I trust no one"

I beat him to the punch, and do a quick pat-down of the mouse. I rub my hand against a part in his coat; stupid mother-fucker is wired. I have two choices here, I can either tell them, or watch him get killed, or do what a good cop does, and lie. I step away from him. "He's clean." I say in a calm manner.

"Where did you learn to do a pat-down from, your grandmother?" Bunny calls, almost pushing me aside. I glare at him, he's starting to wear on my nerves.

He searches the mouse again. He catches the wire and growls, "This one is wired."

"What's with this?" Burton demands.

"It's for my own use." The mouse says, his little eyes filling with panic. That is the most bullshit line I have ever heard. There is no way in hell anyone would believe that.

Bunny holds a gun to the mouse head, and I'm left with no choice. I reach for my gun quickly and shoot him, as I do I hear a bunch of vehicles approaching. I grab for Burton putting the gun to his head.

"Police drop the weapon!" Two men shout at me.

"You guys don't know what you did." I yell at them. We stand down for a few minutes them, still yelling at me. I throw my weapon down, and one approaches me. I let go of Burton and push him towards the guy, but he still comes towards me. Some other person arrests Burton.

"You guys just ruined a three year investigation. Marcus Peyton, Chicago PD." I am able to pull out my badge before the one near me, pulls my arms behind my back, and cuffs me.

They take me to a police car, shoving me into the back. They close the door, and then the officer who puts me in, goes towards the others and seem to be having a pow-wow. Burton is in the backseat of a car near me. I growl at him, watching him tremble a little.

As the adrenaline from the incidents starts to die down as I sit in the back of the car, waiting for them to finish talking outside, one thing strikes me. I just risk my life for that little mouse. When I set foot outside this door I am going to be a wanted man. I don't like this feeling at all. It comforts me a little to know that Burton probably won't last very long in jail.


End file.
